


Bindings

by Ambrosia



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Abbie having to explain things to Ichabod as usual, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2017-12-28 03:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/987010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia/pseuds/Ambrosia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ichabod discovers some of Abbie's strange undergarments in the wash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bindings

"Miss Mills?"

It's late, Abbie realises, eyes flicking up from her paperwork. Her feet are on the table in her lofty livingroom. It's late, she thinks, but it's not so late that she should be in bed, but certainly late enough that the sun outside is well on the way to being set, so she could not possibly think to what Ichabod Crane might be doing with that hesitant hint in his voice. 

They'd already had a fiasco earlier with what Abbie would always fondly remember as 'Sex on Television, chapter one'. 

And really, Abbie was not about to re-enter that conversation any time soon,  _thanks_. 

"Yes, Crane?" Abbie asks, turning her torso around so that she might see him better. 

But then she stops, because he's doing that nervous thing with his toes that he does when he isn't sure if he's done something right or wrong or lost something in translation and that  _does not bode well for anybody_. 

Also, when did Ichabod Crane start regularily staying in her apartment? 

"Yes, well," Ichabod starts, "I came upon your washing the other day, and it brought to mind another question that I had thought to ask you." 

Abbie holds up her hand right after the word  _washing_. "My washing." 

Ichabod half-flinches. He does that. "Indeed."

"You mean my laundry." 

He nods. "Indeed."

Well, the paperwork gets slapped from resting on her thigh to resting on the couch. "What were you, exactly, doing with my laundry—" Abbie gives him a sharp look, then looks towards the laundry room. It doesn't appear to be on fire, or have soap suds running across her livingroom floor, so the damage cannot be that much. So instead, Abbie hisses, " _Crane_."

Hisses like someone hisses the name of the older couple down the street that gives out apples for Halloween instead of candy. 

"I noticed the strange undergarments you wore, with the scorpions," he says, and Abbie does not even need to call up the memory, _Thank you Ichabod._ "I was rather facscinated with the material." 

The words, 'if you have my sports bra behind your back, I will literally shoot you' come to mind, but Abbie bites them down.

"It's gym-wear." Abbie says, itching to massage the little tick just above her left eye that's appeared since Corbin died. At Ichabod's completely blank face, she tries for another approach. "Uh, it's made specifically for phsyically demanding activities. It moves and breathes better than regular fabric." 

Well, she could check off 'undergarments' off the list of things she'd recently had to describe to a two hundred year old turncoat, which now included; blenders, microwaves, energy drinks, washing machine, and sports bras. Not to mention the television. Or the shower. Or the toilet. 

_No,_ she was not going to think about the incident with the toilet. "And these items also function as modern undergarments?"

"Yeah, pretty much." 

Ichabod has a thoughtful look on his face, which Abbie takes a good sign— because he also had a 'what the hell kinda place is this' kinda look when he discovered something he wasn't too comfortable with: exhibits include the pastry taxes and trousers for women and the electric windows in her cruiser. 

"Fascinating," he says, with a surprising amount of enthuiasm. "Thank you."

Abbie kinda nods, a little bit stunned, because _hey_ , underwear, but goes back, thankfully, to her paperwork. Perhaps some things were  just the natural jump from point 'a' to point... well, whatever they hell kinda point they were at, that it didn't surprise Ichabod so much. After all, a sports bra was just a, well, a modified corset, wasn't it? 

"Crane?" Abbie asks, thinking. 

"Hmm?"

"Stay out of my laundry room." The sound of something crashing from the same general direction has Abbie off the couch altogether. "Crane!"


End file.
